Mud
by jambaby1963
Summary: Estel does manage to get himself into quite a bit of trouble at times, doesn't he?


Mud

Shaking his head, and with a look of disgust on his face, the young man looked around at the thick mud that surrounded him. It extended out several meters in front of him, and from where he stood, going forward seemed to be the only way through, as the puddle was surrounded by rocks and trees. Sunk up to his knee as he was, he had no choice but to try and forge ahead or else be stuck where he was for far longer than he wished.

This will be the last time I follow one of Ellandan's shortcuts, he thought to himself. His mind worked quickly, though he was already tired from the days travel, and the fact that his sleep the night before had been interrupted by the rain that he was hoping would have stopped by now. Following an unfamiliar path as he'd been doing, he knew he should have used more caution, but he was anxious to return home, and he never thought he would be thwarted by a mud puddle. He had not sunk for several steps, as thick as it was, and by then it was too late.

He removed his pack and bow from his back and tossed it to the edge of the puddle, then unbuckled his sword and quiver and did the same thing. At least he could keep his belongings relatively mud free. Without his weapons he felt vulnerable, but he still had his dagger in it's sheath on his belt, and that made him feel better.

The rain had fallen steadily for several days, thus creating this and many other mud puddles, but Estel had never come across one so deep and so thick as the one he currently found himself stuck in. He was several steps into it, and many steps to the other side. He was unable to actually pick up each leg, so he proceeded to wade through the muck. He could feel the mud oozing down into his boot from the top, and the more he moved, the more mud went in, until he could actually feel it squishing between his toes. He picked up each foot as high as he was able before pushing ahead, using his arms to steady himself and maintain his balance. The inside of his boot became slippery quickly and he feared loosing it altogether.

He was glad he was alone at the moment; if he had been with his brothers, or with his friend Legolas, he was sure they would be laughing at him. "Leave it to the clumsy human to get stuck in the mud", "humans are simply mud magnets", "if there is mud in the area, Estel is sure to find it". He was sure he would have heard one or all of them. 

The going was tough, and he strained all his muscles to move forward. Sinking a bit further in, he figured that he had made it at least halfway through when it happened. What he had been dreading since he stepped off into this hell of mud. As he lifted his leg to move, his boot came off his left foot. He desperately tried to push his toes back in, but it was no use. Standing there for several moments, he contemplated his options. He could go on without the boot, meaning he would have several miles to go before he reached home with one bare foot, or he could try to dig through the mud to reach the boot. After several moments, he chose the latter option, knowing that he was sure to injure himself if he traipsed through Middle Earth on one bare foot. Besides, the boots he wore were his favorites and he did not wish to have to break in another pair.

He gingerly reached down, his hands sinking up to his elbows in the mud before he finally brushed the top of the boot with his fingertips. At this vantage, his face was so close to the mud that the ends of his hair came in contact and quickly became wet. He rolled his eyes at this. 

Getting what he thought was a good grip on both sides, he pulled and tried to stand at the same time, but the boot slipped through his fingers and he nearly toppled over. Righting himself, he tried again, and then one more time as his boot slipped away again. He was beginning to sweat from the exertions and he was beyond frustration as he tried one more time. In his haste, he did not get as good a grip as he thought, though he put more effort into pulling up. The results of these two actions caused a reaction that he had been desperately hoping to avoid. Loosing his balance, he fell backward, his arms flailing in the air as he instinctively tried to regain his footing. 

He landed with a loud splat on his rear in the mud, sinking to his waist in the disgusting ooze. He sat still, not believing what had just happened. He was now extremely angry, frustrated, and he could feel the mud beginning to make its way into his clothes through whatever opening it could find. Sinking both his hands and arms into the mud, he tried to push himself up, but the brown goo held him in place like glue. He struggled for several minutes, trying different angles and methods, until he realized that the only way he was going to get out was to crawl on his hands and knees. He was actually going to have to swim through the mud.

Turning his body took great effort and as he did, he managed to coat all the places that had been previously mud-free up to this point, though that had not been many. Now on his hands in knees, his neck straining to at least keep his face out of the mud, he struggled on toward the edge of the puddle. At least it is not any deeper he thought to himself just a moment before his left hand sunk further with its next movement, and his face was submerged up to his chin in the brown muck. Thankfully, his right hand found a shallower spot as it seemed he was finally nearing the edge. When at last he crawled the rest of the way out, he collapsed to his side, breathing heavily. He lay for several moments, allowing his heart rate to slow. 

Realizing suddenly what he must look like, mud covered, one boot missing, he began to laugh. The situation was so absurd he could not help it. His laughter grew louder and he rolled onto his back and stared at the sky through the trees above him. Valar, he thought, the situations I get myself into.

After a few minutes, he stood, his one booted foot and his one bare foot slipping slightly before he found his balance. He looked back at the mud, then down at his feet, and wondered for a moment if he should try to retrieve his boot. He did not want to fight with the mud again, nor did he want to travel as he was. As he stood there musing these things over, a light rain began to fall. That is all I need, he thought, as the rain picked up. He attempted to wipe the mud from his face but only proceeded to smear it even more. Not one stitch of the clothing he wore was free of the brown goo, and much of the insides of his clothing was muddy as well and unless he wished to go through his pack and get everything in it muddy as well, he was stuck as he was, a large brown mud covered creature. Why me? He thought as he gathered up his belongings and trudged on, for that is how a mud covered individual traveled, they trudged. No question about it.

With one foot bare, he carefully picked his way along the trail, trying to avoid anything in his path that might injure him. It was a fairly warm spring day, and for that at least he was grateful. As the rain fell, it began to clean some of the mud from his clothing and skin. 

It would take him at least the rest of the day to reach home, and he was so anxious to get there that he began to hurry, no longer being careful of where he was going. Before long, he had several small cuts on his foot and he had stubbed his toe on a large rock that had lain in his path.

The farther he walked the more damage he did to his foot, and he stopped at one point to tear a strip from his cloak and wrap up his foot to try and protect it. This worked quite well, but for a short period of time, and before long he had to decide how much of his cloak he was willing to part with in order to make footwear for the remainder of his journey.

Within two hours, he was limping slightly and with four hours he was limping heavily. At this point, he searched for several minutes trying to find a sturdy branch that he could use as a staff, to try and take some of the weight off his foot. He had sacrificed a bit more of his cloak, and he hoped the combination of staff and cloak would keep his foot from getting any more abuse.

This was not the case, and as he stepped over a fallen log in the path, he punctured the bottom of his foot and a sharp protruding root. Dwarvish curses filled the air as he hopped on one foot for several seconds before sitting heavily down on the ground to inspect the damage. His foot was filthy and now blood mixed with the dirt there, making the wound hard to see. He used the small remainder of water from his canteen to clean the area, but it was barely enough, and all he could tell was the the puncture was deep enough to probably need stitches. He certainly should not have continued to walk on it, but having no choice, he soon was on his feet again, still more of his cloak sacrificed for both bandages and a foot covering. He tried as much as he could to walk on the edge of his foot, but after a quarter league, the strain on his ankle was too much, and he resorted to putting as much weight on the walking stick as he could to keep the pressure of his wounded foot.

He still had several hours to go, but he was beginning to see familiar signs that told him he was close to his father's lands. He was now stumbling along, and keeping balanced was now becoming an issue. He stopped several times to rest, elevating his foot to try and ease some of the pain. The rain had stopped earlier in the day; it had not rained enough to wash much of the mud from him, and some of it had dried to a cakey consistency. He wondered what he must look like, but at this point, he did not care who saw him. He was in pain, tired, and his whole body was covered head to toe with dried or drying mud.

Night was falling as he passed through the outer gates of Rivendell. He thought it odd that no guard stopped him, he knew he should have been difficult to recognize in the condition he was in. Though he had passed through the gate, he still had nearly an hour to go before he would reach his fathers house, and he stopped once again to rest. He sat back, his head against a large tree and closed his eyes. His exhaustion caught up with him and before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

Unknown to him, as he slept, infection was setting into the puncture wound on his foot, and he woke several hours later to a deep throbbing pain. He was confused at first until he realized what must have happened and he hauled himself to his feet once again to finish his journey. He soon discovered that any weight he put on his foot sent a shooting pain up his leg. Not having much choice, he clenched his teeth and continued on, using a combination of side stepping, limping, hopping, and hobbling. 

A quarter hour passed and he was sweating from the exertion. The pain in his foot was throbbing along with the beat of his heart, and he was becoming uncomfortably warm. He did not realize he had developed a fever, brought on by the quick moving infection in his foot.

He picked up his head when he heard the distinctive sound of approaching horses. He stopped in the road, the area only lit by a partial moon, and wondered which of his fathers guards had come. He hoped it was one he knew, because he knew in his condition he would have a hard time convincing someone he did not know of his identity.

The riders drew closer, and he could soon make out his brothers riding toward him. Relief flooded him – he was never so glad to see them!

"Who goes there?"

"Oh El, who goes there? You couldn't think of anything better to say than who goes there?"

"It's direct and to the point, what is wrong with that?"

"It is also boring and unimaginative. If this mud covered creature is a foe, than you have just bored him to death."

"If he was a foe, then does it matter how he dies? I mean is that not the point?"

"Well, I must admit, you do have a point, though if this is not a foe, then what?"

"Then we simply find out who it is, and to do that, we may have to dump them in the nearest brook."

Throughout his brothers' conversation, Estel's head bobbed back and forth as he stood there on one leg, the other bent at the knee with his foot up off the ground. He was able to stay balanced with the walking stick, but he was growing impatient.

"El, I think I know that mud-covered creature. Is that not our little brother?"

"I believe you are correct, as usual, my brother."

"Why does he only have one boot on?"

"You will have to ask him, for I cannot begin to imagine."

"My dear little brother, where is your other boot, and how did you come to be covered with so much mud? I would have thought even you could not get so dirty."

This is what Estel had feared. Though his brothers were displaying a rather humorous case of indifference, he knew that in side, they were probably laughing themselves silly. Now, his foot was hurting him immensely and he felt extremely awkward simply standing there in the road. 

"Please, Elladan, I am really in no mood for this."

"For what, dear brother?"

"For this foolishness. I have traveled a long way as you see me, and I have injured my foot to the point where I cannot bear weight on it."

"Injured? You should have said something, Estel. And here we thought you had discovered a new way of traveling in a stealth-like fashion."

"You know, blending in with your surroundings. Like you were in a swamp."

"Or a bog."

"Or crawling through the muck in any of the hundred places I am sure you have been in since we last saw you."

"We should bring him to father."

"Father will not want him in the house in his condition."

"We could stop at the stables, dunk him in the water trough."

"Good suggestion, but then we would have to drain it, clean it, and refill it."

"Quite right, well how about the river?"

"Too dangerous, you know how high and swift it is this time of year, plus it has been raining quite a bit."

"I suppose we shall have to smuggle him into the house."

"I suppose, but hear me Estel, you must bath before you do anything. And we shall burn your clothing, I do not think it will come clean at this point."

"Yes, yes, yes, whatever you say, just please let us get on with it."

The two elves watched as their brother limped toward them the few steps it took for him to stand beside them.

"Estel, is it really so bad? What have you done to yourself?"

"It is a long story, brother, one which I will tell you, but later."

"Agreed. We will help you and after you can regail us with your tale of mud."

Though both brothers were concerned, they could not help but smile at the sight their brother made. Covered head to toe with mud, most of it dried to his skin and clothing. He had mud on his face, in his hair, between his fingers, under his fingernails, and they were sure they would find copious amounts inside places they could not see. Elladan dismounted and helped his younger brother mount his horse. The animal did not seem to mind having the dirty human on it's back.

They rode the remainder of the way to the main house, where they went in through a back door that had a more direct route to the larger bathing chambers. Here they helped their brother undress as hot water filled a large tub. In the end, they were required to empty and refill the tub three times before Estel was clean.

His foot had begun to bleed again, and Elrohir made quick work of stitching up the wound and bandaging the entire foot. A half hour later, and after an infection fighting tea, the young man was fast asleep. The twins left him to find their father, and to write a letter to the Mirkwood prince, telling both all about Estel's latest adventure.

6 months later...

Sniffing the ground, the wolf pack moved quietly out of the cover of the trees to investigate an object that did not belong there that they had sensed on the ground in the middle of the path. The alpha male bravely stepped forward and nosed the object on the ground, then stepped back to wait to see if their was a response from the thing. When nothing happened, he again sniffed the object and pushed it with his nose. Seeing no response, another of the pack approached. It too sniffed the object, and in the innate way canines have of sensing fun and acting on it, this smaller wolf picked up the object with it's teeth and dropped it at the leaders feet. The leader picked up the object and shook his head, growling deep it his throat. The smaller wolf latched on as well, and a rambunctious game of tug of war ensued. Both creatures were watched by the rest of the pack as they proceeded to play with the item, a man's left boot.


End file.
